


shake it out

by talia_ae



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talia_ae/pseuds/talia_ae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We wouldn’t be good together,” Derek says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shake it out

**Author's Note:**

> this ridiculous ficlet is the first piece of fanfiction I've written in 2013 (not the first thing, though). I am mildly ashamed and also seriously need to go to sleep. 
> 
> this takes place vaguely post-s2, I guess.

“I could be good for you,” Stiles says quietly, his hand outstretched.  He’s waiting for something—a signal, maybe, he doesn’t know what.  He’s slumped in the grass, head turned, and Derek can’t help how he stares.

 “We wouldn’t be good together,” Derek says.  "No could."

 “No.”  Stiles takes another long pull of his beer, lips closing around the mouth of the bottle.  It’s intentionally pornographic, Derek thinks, _unfair_.  “But you would make it good.  I know you would.”

 “You shouldn’t say things like that.  And you don’t know that.”  Derek stretches his legs out, looking at the lights of the town spread out in a panorama below them.  He doesn’t know how they got here; he shouldn’t _be_ here, drinking with someone who’s just a kid but isn’t, not in any way that still counts. 

 “Yeah,” Stiles agrees.  He tosses the empty bottle lazily to the side, picks up another.  The bottle rolls a little; Stiles stops it with his left hand. He’s all loose lines and calm, wearing a grey t-shirt that Derek thinks is Scott’s.  It smells like Scott, anyways, just enough to be irritating in the soft night air. “Probably not.”

 “So what, are you going to leave me up here?”

 “Probably not,” Stiles says, his smile sly, lazy.  He wraps his lips around the bottle again and Derek feels something stir low and hot in his gut.  He pushes it down, vicious.  He’s had lots of practice. 

 “Jesus,” he says instead; he has to say something.  “You—“

 Stiles’s hand drops to the ground and he lies flat on his back, disregarding the damp grass entirely.  He’s graceful in a lanky way, so unlike Derek.  Derek is solid, tries to be as reliable and dependent as his body is, and Stiles just—tramples all over that, with quick hands and quick looks until there isn’t much more Derek can take.

 “You’re a bad idea,” he tells Stiles.  He’s being honest: the old Stiles was full of bad ideas but he wasn’t the embodiment of them.  It couldn’t be read in the curve of his spine and wiry strength in his arms.  Derek had underestimated him, once.  He isn’t going to make that mistake again.

 “I think that’s the best compliment you’ve ever given me.”  Stiles stretches; his shirt rides up.  His stomach is taut and Derek wants to trace the line of hair down below the waistband of his jeans and see where it leads.  He wants to sweep his thumbs over the jut of Stiles’s hips and press down.  _Shit_ , he knows; his throat is tight. 

 Stiles catches his eye.  Derek turns his head away. 

 “Hey,” Stiles says, and he puts the beer bottle down in the grass and rolls over, sliding against Derek.  “It’s—I’m not mad at that, you know.”

 “You’re a problem,” Derek murmurs, but he doesn’t move away.  He can feel Stiles’s chest move, feel him breath.  _That’s_ the real problem, coming up here in the first place, doing this.  Any of this. 

 Stiles laughs, harsh in the back of his throat.  “I’ve been told that,” he says, and he catches Derek’s wrist, pinning it down.  Derek lets him.  It’s easier than it should be.  “I’m going to kiss you now.” 

 He does, and it isn’t something Derek should want, but he made his peace with that a long time ago, or he tried. 

 It’s—god, it’s aching, how much he wants this.  Stiles is pressing him down, cold earth at his back, and there’s strength there, in his wrists and legs.  Derek arches up against it.  He needs it even more than he wants it, and he wants it a hell of a lot.  This isn’t new to him anymore.

 “Fuck,” Stiles says, through clenched teeth, and kisses him again.  His lips are pink and they’re going to be swollen soon and he’s pinning Derek down.  “You’re just, we’re gonna do this, _Derek_ —“

 Derek grips the hem of the shirt Stiles is wearing and yanks, feeling it tear a little in his grip.

 “We’re terrible for each other,” he says, and Stiles kisses the corner of his jaw, nips hard enough to make Derek’s hips twist underneath him.  He pushes his hand up Derek’s shirt, rucking it up.

 “Yeah,” Stiles says, “so let’s go.”

 

 


End file.
